I have never communicated with you and I am very happy for being able to enlarge your literary understanding. You know well the opinion I had about the so-called fantasy world, you who so eagerly read me. Often alone, during long winter nights, in one corner of my lonely home, I would hear the moaning and sorrowful notes of the wind. While my distracted eyes vaguely followed the pictures formed by the flames in the fireplace, the familiar little leprechaun was certainly entertaining me, thus I did not invent Trilby: I just repeated what he had whispered into my attentive ears. What a marvelous thing, feeling these invisible guests living around us! No mystery with them. They do love you, regardless, and do know you better than you do yourselves. In my scholarly life, in my life as a man, I owe to these invisible friends my best successes and my dearest consolations. It is my turn now to whisper to friendly ears things guessed by the heart and that are not repeated. I want to say, dear medium, that I shall often have the kind privilege of talking to you.